“Stop staring at me,” he said. “You’re making me feel like a freak. You’re not going to treat me differently now, are you?”
“That depends,” she said.
“On what?”
“On whether or not you’re going to start tying pastel sweaters around your neck and talking about your polo pony like rich people in the movies I’ve seen.”
“If I promise not to turn into a character from a Fitzgerald novel, can we please forget the fact that I have a trust fund?”
“Okay,” she agreed. He was so down to earth, she was certain it would be easy to do. But now her earlier conversation with Jason came back to haunt her. How could she say Tosh was more her style when he was incredibly wealthy? “Tosh, were you ever in the band?”
“No. I wanted to play the trumpet, but I had braces that kept cutting my lip whenever I tried.”
“Did you play sports?”
“I just told you I wasn’t cool enough to be in the band, and you think I was somehow a jock?” he asked. “I played video game sports and tried to pretend that made me an athlete.”
“Okay,” she said, relaxing once again. Rich or not, Tosh was her kind of people.
“I saw some games when I was cleaning that closet,” he pointed behind her. “Do you Scrabble?”
“I do, but I’m a writer. Words are my business. Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?”
“Try me,” Tosh answered.
The game quickly became cutthroat and lasted a long time. When it was finally finished, Tosh suggested they play Monopoly.
“It’s midnight,” Lacy pointed out.
“I have a few more good hours left before I get really tired,” Tosh said, and then he yawned.
“Tosh, what are you doing?” she asked.
“I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he said.
“I’ll be fine, really. You should go.”
He looked uncertainly toward the door. “I could stay and sleep on the couch.”
She laughed. “That would certainly go over well for the new pastor. You’re very sweet to offer to stay with me, but I’ll be fine, really. And I couldn’t bear it if you got in trouble because of me. In fact, you should make a lot of noise when you leave so the neighbors will know it. Give yourself an alibi for the inevitable gossip our friendship is going to cause.”
“I’m not worried about gossip. I’m worried about you,” he said.
“I’ll lock the door behind you and go straight to bed,” she promised.
He hesitated another minute before finally standing and walking to the door. She followed. They stepped onto the porch and turned to face each other. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will,” she said.
“I can be here in five minutes.”
“I know.”
“I really think maybe I should stay,” he said.
“Tosh, go.” She gave him a light shove toward his car. “Whoever it was didn’t find what he was looking for, and I don’t think he’ll come back. I’ll be fine.”
After another indecisive look toward his car, followed by a yawn, he finally turned in the direction of the driveway. She waited until he was in his car and then she went inside, taking care to lock the handle as well as the bolt on the door.
Strangely, she didn’t feel ill at ease. Maybe because what she told Tosh was true, that she didn’t think whoever it was would come back, or maybe because she was simply too exhausted to care. Too many nights of going to bed late and waking up early were having their effect. After making quick work of her nightly routine, she stumbled down the hall, fell into bed, and was instantly asleep.
When she woke, she was disoriented. At first she thought it was morning and her alarm had sounded, and then she realized the room was still dark and she hadn’t set her alarm.
Something had woken her, but what?
And then she heard it--the telltale creak of the loose floorboard in the living room. Someone was in the house.
Panic immobilized her, causing her brain to freeze and stop functioning. What should she do? Call the police? Where was her phone? With a sinking feeling she remembered she left it in the living room. The nearest landline was in the kitchen, also down the hall and adjacent to the living room. The nearest exit was also on that end of the house, meaning Lacy was trapped with no form of communication.
She had two choices: she could either remain here as a sitting duck, waiting for whoever was out there to come to her, or she could be proactive and either try to call for help or make her escape.
Rolling out of bed as silently as possible, she groped around for a weapon, found an umbrella, and brandished it over her head. Maybe she wasn’t making the smartest move, but taking control felt more comfortable than sitting still and waiting for the unknown. With any luck she would be able to slip by the intruder unnoticed in order to make a break for it.
With that thought in mind, she tiptoed down the hallway, her bare feet barely making a sound on the plush carpet. The house was small. She was so close to the door she could taste freedom. All her focus was on the exit just ten feet away, and that was a big mistake. Instead of pausing at the end of the hallway to sweep the room, she stepped in, leaving herself fully exposed.
A hand grasped the umbrella, using it to pull her fully into the room, and then she was against the wall, her wrists held firmly in a death grip.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Jason hissed. The weight of his body pressing her into the wall kept her toes a few inches off the ground.
Lacy’s insides went from stark terror to boiling anger in an instant. “What am I doing?” she whispered. “What are you doing? Why are you in my house?”
“I just got off work and came to check on you.”
“That explains why you’re still in your uniform, and not why you broke into my house,” she said. She was thankful he was still in his uniform; his bullet-proof vest provided a sturdy barrier between him and her thin cotton nightgown.
“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked. What were you thinking not locking it?”
Strange how instantly and completely her panic returned. “Jason, I did lock it. I checked it a few times just to make sure.”
He froze and looked at her, his body tense and alert. Instinctively, they both turned and looked toward the hallway, straining to hear any sound.
“Is there an exit back there?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “No door and the windows are painted shut.”
He turned so she was flattened against his back instead of his chest. Then he unsnapped his hip holster and placed his hand on his gun. Edging against the wall, he crept toward the hall. When he reached the hall, he pulled out his gun, put it around the corner ahead of his body, and took a step.
At the same moment, a body exploded from the hallway, propelling itself desperately toward the doorway. He tried to get around Jason. Lacy put her hands over her eyes and peeked through her fingers, thinking she was going to witness a shooting in her house, but Jason body-blocked him, holstered his gun, and used his foot to do a leg sweep, seemingly all in one motion.
Though the intruder was on the floor now, he wasn’t done fighting. The next second Jason was on top of him, and they were performing what might have been a wrestling match if they were wearing singlets.
At first Lacy wondered if she should intervene. Should she try to hit the guy over the head with something? But then her anxiety began to ease. He was smaller than Jason and unskilled in a fight. Unless he had a hidden weapon, he was no match for the officer who was now on top of him and cuffing his hands behind his back.
He squealed with pain as Jason wrenched his arm and dug his knee into his kidney.
“Are you going to be good, or do I have to hobble your ankles?” Jason asked.
Lacy had no idea what that meant, but apparently the intruder did. “I’ll be good, Jason, Please, just get up. I can’t breathe.”
Once Jason was
satisfied that the handcuffs were secure, he sat back and shifted his vest, trying to get a deep breath. The suspect lay on the floor and from the sniffling sounds he made Lacy wasn’t sure if he was hyperventilating or crying. Maybe both.
“What are you doing here, Bryce?” Jason asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I thought this was my grandma’s place. I walked in by mistake,” the guy said.
“You mean you picked the bolt and the hand lock on accident?” Jason asked. His tone dripped sarcasm.
“You know this man?” Lacy interjected.
“He’s not a man. He’s a kid, barely out of high school,” Jason said. “He’s a petty thief.”
“Hey,” Bryce interjected. “I’m not petty.”
“And you’re not too bright, either,” Jason said. He turned to look up at Lacy. “He’s generally a violent person unless he’s on something.” Turning back to Bryce, he grabbed a large handful of his hair, pulled his head up, and looked at his pupils. “You on something tonight, Bryce?”
“No, I swear,” Bryce said.
“Why are you here?” Jason asked.
“It was an accident, just like I told you.”
“You know who’s in jail tonight?” Jason said. “Big Ed. I arrested him myself a couple of hours ago. Are you two still fighting over that money you owe him? Because I think he needs a roommate. You want to stay with Big Ed?”
“No,” Bryce yelled, sounding like he was on the verge of crying again. “Please, Jason, I didn’t do nothing wrong. I wouldn’t hurt her, you know that.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Jason asked. “The truth.”
“Someone hired me,” Bryce mumbled after a moment of silence.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. They found me on this internet site a buddy of mine set up. It’s like Craigslist for people who need something illegal done, you know? It’s anonymous.”
“What did they want you to grab?” Jason asked.
“Some books. I tried to get them earlier, but I told them I couldn’t find them. I was real nervous about it because everyone knows she’s your girl, but they wanted me to come back tonight. They said she had them with her, and I would need to get them while she was here. I was just going to get in and out with the books, I swear. I didn’t even touch her computer.”
Lacy’s computer was on the floor beside her bed. If he knew about it, then he must have been in her bedroom. She shuddered, and Jason scowled.
“Who hired you?” he asked again.
“I swear I don’t know,” Bryce said.
“Bryce, you lie when you breathe. How do I know you’re telling the truth now?”
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Bryce said.
“Your mother’s still alive. I arrested her two nights ago for possession,” Jason said. “Come on; let’s go.” He stood and began hauling Bryce to his feet. Bryce started to cry in earnest this time, turning a wet face to Lacy.
She blanched when she saw him. As Jason had said, he was nothing more than a kid. He looked too young and too innocent to be a criminal.
“Please, Lady,” he pled. “I didn’t do nothing. I wasn’t going to hurt you. Please don’t press charges.”
“Don’t talk to her,” Jason commanded, dragging Bryce toward the door.
“Jason, maybe I…”
Jason held up a hand to cut her off. “Don’t even think about it, Lacy. I’m arresting him, and if you won’t press charges, then I will. I’m going to take him to jail, write a report, and then I’ll be back.” He paused at the door and turned to face her. “Will you be okay?” His tone was softer when he looked at her.
She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded once and walked outside, shutting the door behind him. Lacy waited until he started the car before allowing her knees to give out. She sank into an ungraceful heap on the ground, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Twice today someone had been in her home. What was so important in those journals that someone had hired a known criminal to retrieve them? It was time for her to find out.
When she went to her room, the sight of her computer made her feel queasy with fear. How long had Bryce been there? Had he watched her sleep? Had he touched her? She shivered again and set her teeth to stop them from chattering. As quickly as she could, she pried up the loose floorboard in her closet, pulled out the journals, and went back to the living room.
Though it was a warm and muggy night, she was chilled with fright. She wrapped herself up in the afghan and opened the first book.
There were three journals, and they were in date order. The one she had already started reading was the newest. She knew this both by the pristine condition of the book and because the items listed were items that were currently in Barbara Blake’s home.
The next book she tried listed items that were popular in the seventies, such as Gloria Vanderbilt denim. If she hadn’t been so exhausted and frightened, Lacy might have laughed at the thought of the older woman coveting the latest and greatest designer blue jeans.
After quickly sifting that book, she decided it wasn’t relevant because Barbara had lived in New York during all of that time. With a tingle of anticipation, she picked up the last and oldest journal. Its pages were already starting to turn yellow, and many of the items listed Lacy had never even heard of, but they had old-sounding names that made her think they were from the fifties and sixties.
She puzzled over the order of things for a few minutes before realizing the books were in reverse order. The last entry in the book was actually the first item Barbara had apparently received, and it was an easy one to figure out.
“The Flakes- one house.”
Lacy paused, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Barbara had inherited her house from her parents, the Blakes. Her code for her parents was unflattering, but simple to break. She wondered if receiving the house was significant in some way. Had Barbara channeled her grief over her parents’ deaths into trying to acquire more things? Maybe inheriting the house had been comforting to her during her time of distress and she had learned to associate receiving gifts with feeling good.
With no one around to corroborate Lacy’s psychoanalysis, it would remain as theory, but she liked to think she was correct. Even though she had never met Barbara, Lacy preferred to think she had a few redeeming qualities. Surely she couldn’t be as bad as everyone said she was. Maybe her seemingly compulsive need to have people give her things had to do with trying to fill an emotional hole rather than because she was a manipulative shrew.
The next entry was more cryptic. “Round Hole- Matherly.”
The third entry was stranger, still. “Matherly- Bundle.”
Then there was a series of entries grouped together, as if they were a unit: “Prim- watch, spoon, radio, chain. Radish- wooden box, vase, silver fork, picture frame. Strings- crystal bowl, thermometer, pen, camera. President- lamp, linens, paper, rattle.”
There was a space and then one more entry: “Baker- Gave Bundle for 10.” After that there were several blank pages before the entries started again.
Lacy set the journal aside and sat back on the couch. These entries had occurred while Barbara Blake lived here, she was sure of it. But what did they mean? And what, if anything, did they have to do with her murder? How was she supposed to figure their meaning with nothing else to use as a clue?
Her last, desperate hope was her grandmother’s group of friends. So far they had been reticent and unhelpful when Lacy requested their help, but maybe if she showed them the journal they might be willing to help her decipher it for old time’s sake. Or maybe for vindication. The journals didn’t paint Barbara in a good light; they showed her as the calculating user people had accused her of being. Perhaps if Lacy came at if from the angle of exposing Barbara’s past, her former friends might be more forthcoming.
She yawned, dozed, and jerked awake with a start. She wanted to wait up for Jason; she wanted to see him, to reassure herself that he wa
s whole and still in one piece after his dogfight on her living room floor. And she wanted to try and think about the mystery of the journals some more.
Reaching for the remote, she turned on the television and sat back to watch an infomercial, mentally pleading with Jason to hurry up and come back.
Almost two hours later, Jason wearily let himself in the front door, rolling his eyes when he realized Lacy had forgotten to lock it after he left. No doubt she had felt safe since he had Bryce in custody, but what if whoever hired Bryce had also hired someone else? And what if he was less scrupled than Bryce? What if the next guy hurt Lacy or, worse, killed her?
Jason wiped a hand over his face, feeling the first signs of telltale stubble. He had been on duty for sixteen hours, and, because of budget cuts, he would only be paid for eight. Right now he wanted nothing more than to assure himself that Lacy was okay and then go to sleep.
As he suspected, she had fallen asleep. He paused and smiled at the sight of her curled up in the fetal position on the couch, an afghan draped over her shoulders. He removed the afghan and placed it more fully over her body, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She stirred, hunching into a tighter ball. He froze until he was sure she was back asleep, then took off his shirt and vest and laid them over the back of the couch. He barely had the energy to turn off the television and crawl into the waiting recliner. Almost as soon as he sat down, he was asleep.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Lacy wanted to cry with frustration when she woke just after the sun came up. Why, after years of loafing during college and on weekends, was she suddenly unable to sleep in?
Her peripheral vision caught sight of someone in the recliner beside her. Either her subconscious already knew Jason was there or she expected him to be because she wasn’t surprised by the sight. Intrigued would be a better word.
He looked just as good asleep as he did when he was awake. He still wore his uniform pants, a t-shirt, and his boots. Thick, black stubble lined his cheeks and chin, and his long charcoal lashes fanned his cheek, turning his usually devilish good looks cherubic.
Morning Cup of Murder Page 14